


A Suitable Companion

by stillwaterseas (phoenixflight)



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Bathroom Sex, Corporate AU, Corporate Intrigue, Escort Service, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 01:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18728521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/stillwaterseas
Summary: Laurent needs someone to accompany him to a corporate event and calls an escort agency.





	A Suitable Companion

**Author's Note:**

> This fills my square for prostitution on my kink bingo!   
> A big thanks to Nini for beta'ing this and reassuring me about it- what would I do without you? - and to Joss who bribed me with more of her fic to keep writing. <3 <3 <3

“Laurent I don’t expect you to be at the investor’s dinner this weekend but it would be responsible for you to make an appearance. You know it helps investor's confidence to meet the shareholders.” His uncle’s voice was sour, as it always was when he spoke of Laurent’s share of the De Vere business. “It makes them concerned for your reliability but we know how difficult these events can be for you. Of course I will make your excuses, regretfully. But really, these sorts of things are within your purview as a trustee. I know that…” 

Laurent deleted the voicemail and threw the phone on the bed. He rubbed his eyes. There was a headache throbbing behind his temples. 

Uncle was facing a dilemma in his ongoing quest to relieve Laurent of his small but vital portion of the company shares; missing a dinner like this would be another red mark against him in the eyes of the rest of the board members, and Uncle was always looking for reasons to discredit Laurent and move the board toward the unanimous vote it would take to remove him. On the other hand, Uncle had been right that investors wanted to see board members and shareholders at dinner parties, and his absence would be detrimental to the profitability of the event. Laurent wished he could take more pleasure in his uncle’s conundrum, but all he could feel was dread.  

The thought of standing in a bright room, surrounded by his uncle’s cronies, their fake smiles and monstrous platitudes, was sickening. Those glistening dinners always brought suffocating memories of being paraded at those events on his uncle’s arm, in the blurry aftermath of his family’s deaths and his early inheritance. No doubt this weekend Uncle would have his current boy on display. 

Closing his eyes, Laurent practiced the deep breathing that his yoga instructor liked. When you’re stuck, he reminded himself, there’s an option you’re missing. It was something his father used to say to Auguste. If only he didn’t have to go to the dinner alone. 

He blinked his eyes open. 

 

The intercom rang from the front desk. “Monsieur De Vere, your guest has arrived. Shall we send him up?” 

“No.” Laurent straightened the lapels of his suit jacket. “Have him wait in the lobby, I’ll be down shortly.”

In the elevator, the mirrored walls reflected him back a thousand times in every direction. There was no sound except for the rumbling of the mechanism. He was alone in a crowd. It was a familiar feeling. 

Examining his reflection, Laurent smoothed a hand over his hair and took a deep breath. The multitude of people in the glass looked back, strange and unfamiliar in his stiff suit. Sometimes, Laurent could see his brother more clearly in the mirror than himself. 

He wondered wryly if that was what it meant to be haunted. 

The doors dinged and slid open on the lobby, shattering the glassy reflections with light and noise. 

Almost as soon as he stepped out, Arnoul, the concierge, slid up to Laurent discretely and said, “Your guest, Monsieur De Vere,” 

Following his discrete nod, Laurent looked across the room. The man was enormous, tall and broad shouldered, filling out an immaculately tailored suit. The agency had gotten that right, at least. 

Laurent took a deep breath. He’d come this far, and the man was already paid for. 

He strode across the lobby, hearing his own footsteps ringing on the polished marble. The man looked up as he approached. “Are you Laurent?” - he pronounced it correctly. Another point in the agency’s favor. 

“Yes. And you are my date for the evening,” Laurent said. “What do I call you?” 

“Damen,” said the man, and held out his hand. 

Laurent took it, and instead of shaking it, he tugged Damen close, till their shoulders pressed together. The man moved easily, despite his size, to follow Laurent’s lead, and seemed relaxed with the proximity. Laurent hummed. “I’ll brief you on the way.” 

He tucked Damen’s hand into his elbow and led him to the limo, pulled up in front of the building. 

They sat opposite one another, city lights rolling by outside the tinted windows. Laurent clasped his hands in front of him, trying not to fidget. Damen had his hands on his knees, calm. 

“We’re going to an investor’s dinner,” Laurent said, “for my family’s company. I expect it will be moderately less charming than a shark tank at feeding time.” Damen snorted. “You will be playing my respectable boyfriend who is wildly in love with me. You’ll be acting as a buffer. Hopefully people will be moderately less shark-like with you there. Just stand around looking pretty.” 

“I can do that,” Damen said. “My professional personna is usually big and dumb.” 

Laurent raised his eyebrows, almost startled into smiling. “As long as you’re dumb about stocks, not wine vintages.” 

“Don’t worry. I know a salad fork from a seafood fork.” 

“Good.” Laurent sat back. “Just stick close to me and make small talk about golfing. Our goal tonight is to make me look as responsible and boring as possible to the board members.” 

“Responsible and boring, got it. Golfing, yachting, wine tasting. What about horse racing, is that too irresponsible?” Damen was smiling, small and teasing. He had a dimple. 

Laurent felt his lips quirk. “I do like riding actually but let’s stick to dressage. The worst they can do is complain about my taste in entertainment then.”

 

The limo pulled up in front of the highrise hotel where Uncle liked to host his fundraising dinners. Laurent suppressed the urge to straighten his lapels and waited for the driver to open the door. Damen sat calmly beside him, as if accustomed to waiting on service. For a prostitute, it was a good act. 

Head high, Laurent strode into the lobby, with Damen behind him, and then remembered that they were supposed to be a loving couple, and let his steps fall into sync with Damen. It felt strange, but not bad, to walk with someone beside him. 

The bank of elevators was a row of gleaming silver teeth. He stepped between the doors of one, holding it for Damen, and pressed the button for the penthouse restaurant. The hotel was a skyscraper, towering over the skyline, and the cocktail lounge was on the 60th floor. 

Just before the mirrored doors slid shut, a boy with dark curls, wearing a scarlet silk blouse, slid into the elevator with them. 

“Hello Nicaise,” Laurent said. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be around.” 

Nicaise cast him a disparaging look, and tipped his head toward Damen. “Who’s this?” 

“This is my boyfriend, Damen. Damen, meet Nicaise.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Damen said politely. 

Nicaise blinked at him slowly, purple eyeshadow glittering, and looked back at Laurent. “You don’t date.” 

“Says who?” 

“Your uncle.” 

“Why is my uncle talking to you about my sex life?” 

Nicaise made a face. “He says you’ve had problems with secure attachment ever since your brother died. It’s part of what makes you so unreliable.”

The glowing numbers over the door clicked up. “My uncle is not a shining authority on secure attachment. Did he send you down here to proactively upset me by mentioning Auguste?” 

Nicaise flipped his hair, earrings gleaming. “He sent me down to get in a fight with you, in case one of the investors was in the lobby.” 

“Seems like that tactic could be more effective in front of everyone, later. You could still try it.” 

Nicaise narrowed his eyes. “You think I should?” 

Laurent shrugged. “Uncle might be upset if you make to much of a scene. It could impact the fundraising. Then he’d be angry.” 

Nicaise crossed his arms. “You’d like that. If he was angry at me.” 

A hard, painful knot pulsed under Laurent’s ribs. “I really wouldn’t. But I understand if you don’t believe me.” 

Before Nicaise could open his mouth, the elevator chimed, and the door slid open. 

The cocktail lounge was a genteel bustle of hostility. Outside the dramatic floor to ceiling windows the city lights flickered in the blue evening, like a spilled box of diamonds. It was the kind of view that made people gawk the first time they saw it, but Damen just glanced at it, eyes moving on easily around the room. His hand settled on Laurent's back and Laurent startled a little before remembering to relax into it. Nicaise slid past them and eeled off into the crowd, casting a poisonous look over his shoulder as he went. 

Damen leaned close and spoke in his ear. “What’s up with the kid?” 

Laurent suppressed a shiver at the warm waft of breath against his neck. “It’s a long story,” he muttered, not moving his lips. He was scanning the room for his uncle, but saw no sign of him. It didn’t make his shoulders any less tense. 

“Stay close to me,” he added to Damen, and set off toward the bar. On the way he fielded half a dozen greetings and introductions from the bedazzled piranhas circling the room. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” Guion said, intercepting them. 

“I wouldn’t miss an important event like this,” Laurent said blandly. Damen’s hand was warm on his back even through the layers of his jacket and shirt. “Have you met my boyfriend, Damen?” 

“I have not. Your uncle didn’t mention that you are seeing anyone.” 

“You know Uncle and I aren’t close anymore.” 

“So he hasn’t met...Damen, was it? He hasn’t met Damen before tonight?” Guion’s eyes gleamed with the light of a man anticipating a boxing match or a dog fight. 

“Yes. Damen wasn’t going to be free this evening but his schedule changed and he decided to come along.” Laurent put a hand on Damen’s forearm, feeling the muscle beneath his sleeve, and aware of his own body’s reaction. This feeling had not been part of the plan at all. Pushing it away he turned his sunniest smile on Guion. “One of my favorite things about Damen is his courage.” 

Guion’s face was pinched. “Well, welcome Damen.” He gave them a small tight nod and moved off. 

“Courage?” Damen muttered in his ear. 

“Indulge me,” Laurent whispered back. “Men like Guion like to think they’re scarier than they are.” 

“All rich people do,” Damen said, and Laurent had to swallow a genuine laugh. 

At the open bar, Laurent ordered a soda water, and looked at Damen. “Same,” he said, and Laurent wondered if that was a professional courtesy. 

“Laurent!” A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. “Good to see you.” Touars’ face was the same shade as the rosé he was drinking. “Who’s this?”

“This is Damen, my boyfriend.” 

Touars pumped Damen’s hand hard. “Damen. Damen. You look familiar, have we met?” 

Damen looked unfazed, despite the fact that Laurent’s heart was suddenly pounding furiously. “Maybe somewhere.” 

“It's going to bother me all night,” Touars said, snapping his fingers. “Well, good to meet you. Or remeet you.” He laughed and walked away. Laurent breathed out slowly, feeling the dizzy ebb of adrenaline surging in his veins. 

“Well?” he snapped to Damen. 

Damen shrugged. “Just one of those faces, I guess.” 

“I hope that’s good enough.” 

“Don’t worry.” The calm in Damen’s voice was undeniably soothing. “Part of my job is redirecting people. And I’m excellent at my job.” His voice dropped just a little and Laurent couldn’t help the shiver that went through his body at the tone - like the sympathetic resonance of a tuning fork trembling with the echo of a drum. Damen was, undeniably, good at his job. 

Turning away, Laurent’s eye was caught by a flash of red silk. It was Nicaise, standing in a group of taller men, and Laurent’s uncle, with his arm thrown casually around Nicaise’s shoulders. It was a proprietary, familiar gesture that would be mistaken as fatherly to anyone who didn’t know better. Laurent’s stomach rolled. 

He tucked his hand in the crook of Damen’s elbow and muttered, “Come on,” tugging him across the room toward the group. Nicaise saw them coming, and leaned forward to whisper something in Uncle’s ear. Uncle turned, and met Laurent’s gaze as they approached, expression unreadable. That alone was a tell that he was displeased. 

“Laurent. You decided to join us after all.” 

“Uncle,” Laurent acknowledged, and then made a point to greet the others in the group. “Mathes, good evening. Jeurre, Estienne, good to see you both. Nicaise, you’re even taller than when I last saw you.” Nicaise made a face at him, behind Uncle’s back. “Of course I’m here, Uncle. I was sorry to see the 3% deficit in the budget this quarter, when I looked at the report. I’m hoping this evening can help turn that around.” The report had only been out since Thursday afternoon - probably most of the board hadn’t gotten around to reading it in full yet, and the deficit had been neatly concealed deep in other dross. 

His uncle sidestepped the issue, looking at Damen with his nose faintly wrinkled, as if he had smelled something bad. “Who’s this?”

“This is Damen.” Laurent took a deep breath. The glass of soda and ice in his hand was sweating condensation over his fingers. “My boyfriend.” He watched his uncle’s face for a reaction, but there was only a slight quirk of his lips that could have been amusement or displeasure. 

Uncle did not extend his hand. “What do you do, Damen?” 

Damen’s square, handsome face was honest and open. “I’m studying veterinary medicine.” His manner was easy and believable. Except for being younger by thirty years, better looking, and less white, he fit right in with the rest of uncle’s rich guests. He looked confident and relaxed in response to Uncle’s questioning. It was a better fiction than Laurent had hoped for out of a companion for the evening. He made a mental note to tip the escort agency. 

“Laurent likes horses,” Nicaise piped up. 

“Yes.” Damen showed his dimples when he smiled although now Laurent knew what his genuine smile looked like, this wasn’t it. “It was one of the first things we realized we had in common.” 

Uncle clearly wanted to quiz him further but Damen responded to a question of Juerre’s and was absorbed so gracefully into a conversation that even Laurent couldn’t tell if it had been an orchestrated evasion or not. Laurent sipped his drink and nodded to Uncle -  _ your move.  _

“I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone. This must be a new development.” 

“Why, simply because you hadn’t heard of it till now? Why we  _ must  _ be in closer touch, Uncle,” he said, sickly sweet. “Shall we do brunch?” Across the room he spotted a flash of red hair, and where Ancel was, so was Berenger. “Ah, you must excuse me. Damen?” 

He introduced Damen to Berenger, who was one of Laurent’s only allies on the board, and politely inquired after Ancel’s fashion design studio, which was more of a hobby than a job, since Ancel could not be mistaken for anything other than a professional kept boy. Laurent wondered whether Damen would recognize a kindred soul, and then considered that that thought would probably offend both of them. Laurent had no particular business with Berenger, except that of avoiding the rest of the room, so they lingered together until Herode approached. 

“Laurent.” Herode reached out an arm for a hug, and Laurent accepted it, a little stiffly, in honor of Herode’s devotion to his late father. “Good to see you.”

“Are you surprised also?” Laurent asked. 

“Of course not.” He patted Laurent’s shoulder. “I knew you’d be here. There’s someone who wants to meet you.” 

Laurent tensed a little, wondering if this was another attempt at a romantic set-up, as if he were the  marriageable heir to some ancient kingdom. One memorable night, someone had dreamed up the idea that Guion’s son Aimeric might be a good match for Laurent, despite all evidence to the contrary, and that a relationship might smooth the way between Laurent’s stubborn hold-out on the board and his uncle’s faction, of which Guion was a central player. The experiment had been a disaster for all involved. Before Laurent could open his mouth to introduce Damen - one of the primary reasons Laurent was paying four grand for the evening - Herode said, “You remember discussing Mr. Torgeir, with Patras Holdings?” 

One of the potential investors. A business set up then, not a romantic one. Laurent nodded politely, and Herode gestured over a tall, handsome man a little older than Laurent’s uncle, with salt and pepper hair and laugh lines around his eyes. 

“Pleasure, Mr. Torgeir,” Laurent said, shaking his hand. 

“So you’re De Vere Junior.” His grip was firm and dry. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you for someone who only owns 4.5% of your company.” 

Laurent made a quick mental assessment. Torgeir had a neat beard and a silver stud in his right ear. The kind of businessman who liked to think of himself as a black sheep. “Spoken like a man who hasn’t had concerns about his shareholders since taking over his 54.8% in 1992,” Laurent said cooly, holding his gaze. “And you’ve done very well with it. Congratulations on the Vaskian merger - it was quite a coup.” 

Herode’s face was red. Torgeir blinked at him, then laughed. “You’re a sharp one, aren’t you?” he chuckled. “I can see why your uncle thinks you’re such a threat.” 

“Really? I shall tell him to be less obvious about his prejudices against me,” Laurent said. “I beg your pardon for airing the family business, as it were, in public.” 

“Oh, not terribly obvious. It’s a gut feeling.” Torgeir patted his stomach. “A businessman’s intuition. I’ve learned to trust it. Your uncle’s got a mind like a chessboard. He could use a little more spontaneity in his business approach.” 

“You think so?” Laurent kept his voice politely neutral, inwardly intrigued. It was rare to hear any criticism of his uncle’s methods, certainly not from a high-profile supporter like this. “I’ve been known to be spontaneous on occasion. When a good reason presents itself.” He glanced at Damen, who was watching him, looking faintly amused. Laurent took a sip of his soda, almost empty. The ice clinked against his teeth. 

“Oh yes?” Torgeir gestured to a waiter with a tray of champagne, and picked up a glass, passing it to Laurent, who accepted it wordlessly. Alcohol was an inescapable part of social courtesy, as little as he liked it. “I’ll make you a deal. Tell me about a time when you were spontaneous, and I’ll sign the sponsorship agreement that your uncle has been pushing on me for the last four months.”

Laurent felt his eyebrows rising and schooled himself into calmness. Herode made a small, shocked sound. “Can I get that in writing?” Laurent asked. 

They found a paper cocktail napkin, and Torgeir scribbled,  _ IOU $125,000 for a spontaneous story _ , and signed it. Herode looked like he might have a stroke. Berenger wore a worried frown. Ancel looked delighted. 

Laurent considered his options, and took a small sip of the champagne, feeling it bubble across his tongue, insubstantial and tangy. He licked his lips and glanced at Damen. “I met my boyfriend when I hired him to escort me to an event. It worked out, and here we are.” 

There was a moment of frozen silence, and then Torgeir threw back his head and roared with laughter, so loudly that people around the room turned to look at them. Herode made a choking sound beside him. Ancel’s eyes were already gleaming with the fuel of new gossip. Damen’s face was twisted up in a silent attempt to contain laughter of his own. 

Torgeir clapped his hands together. “Impulsive, reckless, successful. I like it!” He handed Laurent the paper napkin with his signature. “My people will have a check in the mail to you by Monday at noon.” 

Laurent breathed out slowly through his nose. 

Slapping a hand on Laurent’s back, hard enough to make him jump, Torgeir said, “Pleasure doing business with you, Junior. I hope our paths will cross again.” 

“I’m sure they will,” Laurent said, hoping he sounded less shaken than he felt. 

Herode, looking constipated, shepherded Torgeir away, possibly to make profuse apologies, but it didn’t matter. Laurent carefully tucked the folded napkin into the inside of his jacket. Adrenaline ebbed in his bloodstream, making him feel flushed all over. 

Berenger whistled low and shook his head. “Your uncle is going to be livid.” 

“The board is going to be pleased,” Laurent returned. 

Berenger nodded, and took Ancel’s hand. “Herode will want to tell them right away. I’ll go watch how he takes it.” They departed, leaving Damen and Laurent alone within a small bubble of space in the midst of the crowd. 

Damen looked at him, mouth twitching. “You’re insane,” he said. His dimples were showing. 

Laurent’s heart was still pounding, but he managed to say evenly, “Don’t you think I’m rich enough to be called eccentric instead?” 

Laughing, Damen looked at the half full glass of champagne in his hand. “Do you want me to get you another soda water?” 

His throat was dry, and drinking alcohol wouldn’t help. Laurent nodded. Damen took his glass and wound his way through the crowd to the bar. 

Laurent watched him as he went, distracted by the fit of Damen’s suit across his broad shoulders. He felt unusually aware of his body, something warm thrumming in the pit of his stomach. It had been ages since he felt like this, and the feeling was shockingly clean. Nothing frightening or wrong or shameful about it, he realized with a jolt and that thought unfolded like a white flag in his chest. 

“An interesting choice, Laurent,” his uncle’s voice came from behind him. 

Laurent just stopped himself from whirling around. 

“I heard about your little stunt with Patras. You’re playing with fire, Laurent.”

Recklessly, Laurent said, “I’m not the one bringing my underage whore to business dinners.” 

Uncle’s mouth pinched. “You’ve just admitted to bringing a whore of your own. Or are you going to tell me that you lied to one of our most important business partners?” 

“Who said he’s still a whore? He’s my boyfriend."

Uncle's eyes glittered. “Come now, you and I both know that you don’t do real attachments.” 

“And you do? To boys that you send back to foster care when they get to old for you? Is that what real attachment means to you?” 

“Watch your mouth,” Uncle snapped. His face was white. There were dangerous truths that Laurent had never been brave enough to tell, and they both knew it. While Uncle controlled so much of his life, and his position in the company was so precarious, Laurent had not been able to consider bearing the brunt of the scrutiny and humiliation it would cause to reveal his uncle. But if he could win patrons like Torgier - if he could win the loyalty of the board… Laurent felt a flutter of power under his ribs near where the IOU was tucked. 

He turned his back on his uncle without another word and strode toward the bar, where Damen was just accepting a glass from the bartender. He looked startled when Laurent appeared at his elbow. His eyes widened even more when Laurent grabbed him by the back of his neck and went up on his tiptoes to kiss him. His mouth was soft, lips slightly parted in surprise. Twisting his fists more fully into Damen’s collar, Laurent licked and nibbled at Damen’s mouth until he kissed him back. Their bodies were flush against one another, mouths locked. Laurent could tell from the quality of the noise around him that people were turning to stare, but he kept his eyes closed. One of Damen’s hands had come to rest on the small of his back, drawing him closer, and Laurent rolled his hips with the movement, sensuous and practiced. It was part performance, part genuine thrill, and he felt his cock stir. Pressed against Damen as he was, Laurent could tell he wasn’t the only one. 

When he finally drew back, Damen blinked, and cleared his throat a little. “Everything alright?” 

Taking the glass from his hand, Laurent threw back the soda water like it really was gin, and said, “Let’s go.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“To be spontaneous.” 

Dragging Damen by the arm through the crowd, Laurent caught sight of his uncle and looked away, and then Torgier, grinning at him and giving him a thumbs up. 

There was a single occupancy restroom by the elevators. Laurent pushed Damen through the door and locked it behind them. 

“Um,” Damen said. 

Laurent turned. “Two options.” He held up a finger. “One, we stay in here and play cellphone games for a sufficient amount of time to prove a point. Or two,” he held up a second finger and met Damen’s gaze. His eyes were dark. “You bend me over the sink and fuck me until I scream. Preference?” 

“You realize sex isn’t in my contract, right?” Damen’s voice was a half-octave lower than normal, eyes intent on Laurent’s. “It’s not part of what you’re paying me for.” 

Laurent spread his hands in front of him in a  _ voila  _ motion. “Do you want to fuck me or not?” 

Their eyes met, and Damen’s gaze dropped down to Laurent’s mouth. He licked his lips and said, “I do.” 

Laurent felt his heartbeat spike, nerves and desire tangled together. They reached out for one another at the same time and if the kiss at the bar had been a show, this was an exploration. Damen’s hands trailed lightly up and down Laurent’s back, stroking his hair back and caressing his neck, making him shiver. Discovering that, Damen turned his attention from Laurent’s mouth to his throat, pressing kisses against the tender skin below his ear and under his jaw. Clinging to Damen’s broad shoulders, Laurent panted, open-mouthed, under the teasing touches. He’d gotten off a few times in college with people his own age, but none of them had been this skilled, this precise. He was already fully hard, just from this.

“You’re gorgeous,” Damen murmured, between kisses. “Fuck, you should see yourself.” Laurent  _ could _ see himself, flushed and rumpled over Damen’s broad shoulders, in the pristine mirror above the sink. The bathroom reflected behind him was all gleaming white marble and silver fixtures, and the two of them in their suits looked like they were shooting a high-budget porno. Laurent dug his fingers into Damen’s thick, glossy curls, watching the contrast of his pale hands against his dark hair in the mirror. 

Damen purred a little and nuzzled against his throat, loosening his tie with one hand and dragging the other down Laurent’s chest, under his jacket. As he brushed over Laurent’s right nipple, Laurent shuddered, an unexpected jolt of heat shooting through him. Repeating the gesture, Damen pulled back a little to watch his face, and thumbed both nipples through his shirt. 

Laurent arched helplessly into his touch, and then tugged at the lapels of Damen’s jacket. “Off.” They both discarded their suit jackets, and Damen yanked off his tie one handed, the other never leaving Laurent’s body. Taking him by the shoulders and Damen turned him so his back was to the counter, Damen crowded up close to him. Laurent’s cock rubbed against his thick, muscular thigh through their pants, and he bit back a groan. Damen’s erection was straining at the front of his slacks, looking huge even obscured by fabric. 

Tugging Laurent’s shirt out of his waistband, Damen knelt down, pressing kisses to his stomach and hipbones. Laurent felt the muscles in his abdomen twitching at the light, teasing touches, almost ticklish. One of Laurent’s hands was still resting on his head, Laurent’s breath was coming short. 

Leaning over, Damen rifled through his discarded jacket and pulled a condom out of the inside pocket. 

“Sex isn’t part of your job?” Laurent asked, eyebrows raised, and was proud that he sounded almost normal. 

Damen shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.” Unzipping Laurent’s jeans, he took his cock in one hand. “I’ve been thinking about this all evening. Wondering if your cock is as beautiful as the rest of you and it is.” Laurent didn’t think Damen was faking the almost reverent appreciation in his voice. All evening he had not yet heard Damen tell a lie. “I can’t wait to get my mouth on it.” He ripped open the condom, and began to roll it over Laurent’s dick.

“I… wait,” Laurent managed. “I won’t do that for you.” Damen looked up at him, questioning. “Not because… Not just… I mean, I don’t do that for anyone. I don’t suck cock.” 

“Do you not want me to suck you?” Damen asked. 

“No, yes - I do, I just… I won’t reciprocate.” His cheeks were warm, he knew he was flushing bright red. “So if you don’t want...” 

“I want,” Damen said, and took Laurent in his mouth.  

Gasping, Laurent gripped the edge of the counter behind him. The wet, hot slide of Damen’s mouth, the swirl of his tongue around the sensitive head of his cock, the sight of him kneeling with his plush lips open around the shaft all made Laurent’s knees weak. He watched closely for signs of discomfort, but Damen’s eyes were heavy-lidded, pupils blown, and he was palming himself through his slacks. 

Pleasure was coursing through his body, hot and tingling, but Laurent couldn’t come like this - the itch of anxious discomfort in the back of his mind was too strong. He sucked air into his lungs, shuddering as Damen’s tongue undulated against the underside of his cock. 

“Do you have lube, too?” he managed, and then groaned as Damen hummed an affirmative around his cock. He pulled off to find it in his jacket, and Laurent took the opportunity to catch his breath, looking down at his slick, pink cock bobbing beside Damen’s cheek. Pulling a packet of Astroglide out of his jacket, Damen looked up, met his gaze, and grinned at him, the expression somehow sweet and dirty at once. 

Licking down the length of Laurent’s dick, Damen tore the packet and smeared lube on his fingers. Laurent shuffled his legs apart a little as Damen slid his slick hand behind his balls and over the sensitive skin of his perineum, making him shiver. His entire body clenched at the first light touch to his hole, and he threw his head back, biting down on his lip. Damen dragged his tongue back up Laurent’s cock from the base, and sucked the head into his mouth again. 

Laurent humped into the heat of his mouth a little, feeling Damen’s finger slowly working against the resistance of his asshole. Putting one hand on Laurent’s hip to hold him still, Damen applied a firm pressure until the first finger slid into him. Laurent let out a shuddering breath, feeling a throbbing feedback between his cock in Damen’s mouth and his finger in his ass. 

“Alright?” Damen murmured, pulling off with a  _ pop _ . 

“Don’t stop.” 

Damen stretched him open patiently. His knees must have been hurting on the marble floor but he seemed perfectly content to suck Laurent off and work him open with his fingers. He’d gotten his own pants open and had his hand inside his fly. 

“Let me see,” Laurent said. “Let me see your cock.” 

Looking up at him through his lashes, Damen pulled his dick out of his pants. It was gorgeous - thick and dark, flushed ruby at the head. Laurent clenched down around his fingers reflexively and Damen grinned around his cock, dimples showing. 

He worked three fingers inside Laurent, the stretch burning, and curled them toward his prostate. Lurching forward Laurent thought that maybe he  _ could _ come like this after all. He’d always loved getting fucked, on a purely physical level. And he hadn’t had anything but his fingers and toys in so long. “M’ready,” he gasped. 

It stung a little as Damen pulled his fingers out, but Laurent didn’t care. He turned around, spreading his knees as far apart as they would go with his dress slacks around his calves. Bending over the counter he knocked a neat stack of hand towels into the sink, and swore as he felt Damen’s hands, sticky with lube, spreading his cheeks. At the waft of cool air across his hole Laurent wondered if he was about to get licked there too, but Damen just lurched to his feet. In the mirror, Laurent could see Damen tearing open another condom. He was still in his dress shirt, crisp against his dark skin, the buttons undone at his neck making him look somehow more debauched than totally nudity. 

The head of his cock was blunt and warm against Laurent’s hole. Breathing out slowly, Laurent looked at the fancy hand soaps a few inches from his face. Damen rubbed his less messy hand up Laurent’s back, under his shirt, a soothing gesture that made Laurent squeeze his eyes shut. “Go on. Fuck me.” 

His body remembered how to relax and bear down against the intrusion to ease the way. Behind him, Damen groaned, fingers digging into his hips, and Laurent bit his lip hard, arching. It burned, so tight - Damen was  _ huge _ ; Laurent had forgot how intense this was, feverish hot and cold all over his body. As if a single point of contact could lay him bare, peel him open like an orange. The angle changed as Laurent squirmed, and Damen was suddenly sliding in deeper. Laurent’s eyes flew open and he swore loudly. 

“You okay?” Damen asked, strangled. 

Laurent met his gaze in the mirror. Damen’s face was scrunched up like it was taking effort to keep from fucking Laurent immediately. Laurent’s own face was flushed vivid red, forehead shining with sweat, hair in his eyes, his normal carefully cultivated composure gone. He looked older than he’d expected to. He swallowed, throat dry. “I’m okay.” 

Damen started slow, just rocking deep inside him as Laurent loosened. It was teasing and deliberate, just nudging his prostate without pressing it hard. Laurent’s dick bobbed in the air in front of the counter. He could feel precome dripping from the head.

“You can fuck me harder than that,” he bit out. 

“Yeah?” Damen’s tone wasn’t particularly challenging but he drew out a little further than before. Laurent tried to relax and brace himself all at once, but the hard thrust that followed still made him jolt. Damen began fucking him deep and hard but still slow, so that Laurent whined and writhed on his cock, his blunt nails scrabbling on the countertop, and the head of his cock brushing against the cold marble with every thrust, sending shocks through him.

“Faster,” Laurent ordered, breathless. 

“Picky,” Damen said, equally breathless, but pounded him faster. All the breath rushed out of Laurent’s lungs - there was no room inside him for anything except Damen’s cock and the building pressure of his own orgasm. Glancing up, he saw the two of them in the mirror again and had to look away. Damen was moving above him like a work of art, and Laurent himself was pinned, wanton and helpless, gasping for it like a whore. With long practice at shoving intrusive thoughts aside, Laurent dropped his forehead down against the cool counter, and let himself enjoy being thoroughly fucked for the first time in far too long. 

“Touch yourself,” Damen panted. “Come for me.” 

Bracing himself with one arm, Laurent slid a hand under himself and curled it around his cock, hearing his own moan echo in the marble basin of the sink. 

Damen was bent over his back, hips snapping into him, babbling in his ear - “Yes, that’s so good, you’re so beautiful, so fucking hot like this, take it so beautifully, god you’re better than I was imagining, I wanted you so much, all night, come for me Laurent, I want you to come on my cock.” His voice was delicious, low and rough and grounding. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Laurent found the insubstantial beginning of his climax and grasped it like a thread, tightening his grip on his own cock. Orgasms were not always easy for him, but Damen was pounding relentlessly against his prostate, whiting-out the disruptive noise in his head, and Laurent found it easy for once to follow that thread, to grip it tightly and tug at the tight-coiled tension in his own belly until it expanded, flowing out in a rush to fill his whole body. 

He cried out as he came, cock jerking in his hand. Groaning, Damen dropped his head against Laurent’s shoulder, mumbling, “Fuck, fuck, come for me, I’m gonna come for you.” The counter was growing warm from his body as Laurent pressed his cheek against it, panting,. He enjoyed the warm weight of Damen on top of him, the pleasant lethargy in his own limbs, and the subtle twitch of Damen’s dick inside him. 

Condoms made for quick clean-up, and the convenient stack of handtowels did the rest. They made themselves presentable in silence, Laurent not quite meeting Damen’s gaze. There was a goofy, unwarranted smile that kept wanting to crack across his face, and Damen looked just as relaxed. 

Straightening his tie, Laurent checked that the napkin with Torgeir’s IOU was still in his jacket pocket, and pushed open the door. People all around the room pretended not to stare, and there was a barely perceptible lull in conversation and then a slight uptick in volume. Laurent found his uncle, and met his gaze coolly, enjoying the expressionlessness which meant Uncle was repressing his displeasure. Uncle didn’t like being reminded of things he no longer controlled. 

Making his way to the bar again, with Damen beside him, Laurent spotted Torgeir talking with Berenger, and Nicaise with Ancel. That was a good thing, probably. Ancel at least had figured out the difference between a sugar daddy who was worth it and one who wasn’t. Laurent hoped he’d be a good influence for Nicaise - there was only so much he could do for the boy until Uncle tired of him and Nicaise swallowed his pride enough to take Laurent’s help. 

Herode, Guion, and Touars were standing with Uncle, but Laurent saw him make excuses to them begin an interception course. Reaching the bar, he signaled to the bartender for more of the same, and sipped his soda as his Uncle arrived at his shoulder. 

“Was that an appropriate cocktail party behavior, Laurent?” he asked, icily. He dismissed Damen with a glance as if he weren’t standing there. 

Leaning back with his elbows propped on the bar, Laurent let his uncle see, let the whole room see, the looseness in his movements. “Everything I know about cocktail parties, I learned from you.” 

He saw his uncle’s fury but Herode and Touars had joined them, like little fish swimming in the wake of a shark, and Uncle couldn’t say anything in front of them. 

“Damen!” Touars snapped his fingers. “I know where I’ve seen you before! You’re Damianos Akielos.” 

Laurent froze, feeling Damen go still beside him. 

“You probably don’t remember me but I used to go golfing with your father,” Touars continued, oblivious. “I remember you getting in trouble for fucking some blonde girl in the country club bathroom when you were a teenager.” He laughed and clapped Damen on the shoulder. “It brought it all back. Good to know some things don’t change. How’s your dad?” 

Everyone else was staring. Even Uncle looked surprised. Laurent felt the vertiginous rush of the situation slipping out of his control. 

“He’s good,” Damen said, calm. “Thanks for asking.” 

Laurent slipped his arm through Damen’s. “Excuse us,” he said, and dragged Damen away from the bar and over toward an empty corner of the room where a potted palm obscured them a little from view. “Akielos,” he hissed, “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” 

Ducking his head, Damen answered in an equally low voice. “I’m not in the habit of sharing my real identity in a professional setting.” 

Laurent breathed out hard through his nose, forcing his face to remain neutral, aware that they were being watched. “What is the heir to one of the oldest farmilies in Artes doing working for an escort agency?” 

“Exactly what I said. Paying for vet school.” Damen shrugged. “There’s not a lot of money left to the family name. It’s not exactly something we talk about.” 

Laurent ran his fingers through his hair. “Damianos Akielos,” he muttered. No going back. His mind was spinning, reformulating his plans for the fact that he was dating Damianos Akielos for the night. “Fuck.” His stunt with Torgeir. Damianos  _ fucking _ Akielos. He could have handled one rumor or the other but was feeling swamped by both, staring down at the carpet. 

He felt Damen’s hands grip his shoulders, startling him into looking up. Damen was peering at him intently. “Hey, hey. It’s gonna be okay.” 

“Why are  _ you _ the one comforting  _ me _ ?” Laurent snapped. “Touars recognizing you after what I said to Torgeir earlier...” He shook his head and swore again. “ _ Motherfucker _ .” 

“I’m not sure Torgeir believed you entirely, anyway.” 

“But still. Even if it’s just a rumor…” Laurent bit his lip. He hated feeling guilty. 

“If it makes you feel better, my family already knows. My girlfriend told my brother when she left me for him, and Kastor told my parents.” Damen grimaced at the sharp look Laurent gave him. “It’s a long story.” 

Laurent was acutely aware that the longer they spent behind the potted plant, the more suspicious they looked. “Okay. Okay,” he repeated to steady himself. “Well,  _ Damen _ .” He leaned heavily on the nickname. “Let’s mingle.” 

As he scanned the room, Laurent could tell word had already spread by the way people turned to look at them. Almost immediately, Guion accosted them and held out his hand. “Mr Akielos, a pleasure.” 

Damen accepted his handshake with the correct degree of dignity. No wonder he looked so at home in his tuxedo and knew about seafood forks. He’d been born to this life. As Laurent 

“How did you meet Laurent?” Guion asked. 

“Oh, it was a coincidence.” Damen dimpled. “I can’t believe how lucky we got.” He was charming and evasive enough to sidestep Guion’s probing, until Rochert came up also, to shake hands and gossip-monger. 

Across the room Laurent heard Torgeir’s booming laugh, and he looked over sharply to see Nicaise standing next to the man, dwarfed by his height. Laurent wasn’t sure if he should go intervene or leave an already delicate situation alone. The back of his neck itched - Nicaise was a wild card. 

He was so distracted that his uncle descended on the two of them like a bird of prey, with hardly a warning. 

“Mr. Akielos, why didn’t you say?” His voice was silky and Laurent tensed. 

“I don’t like to lean on my family name,” Damen said blandly. “It’s so hard to make a first impression that way. Anyway, I’m here to support Laurent, there was no need to make it about me.” 

“How retiring of you,” Uncle said, cool as gunmetal. “I understand you met through work.” 

“There’s only so many ways to meet people,” Damen said, and Laurent was grudgingly impressed at the non-answer. He wouldn’t have thought that sweet, straightforward Damen had the skills to keep up with Uncle in a battle like this. 

Over Damen’s shoulder, Laurent saw Herode approaching. Herode did not have an imaginative sense of humor, and he had heard Laurent’s story to Torgeir directly. “Mr. Akielos.” He reached out and shook Damen’s hand, and then frowned at Laurent. “Nicaise explained the inside joke to Torgeir but I think it was very irresponsible of you, and not a way to start a business partnership.” 

Blinking, Laurent scrambled silently for an appropriately vague response. “Uncle is always telling us that the outcome justifies the technique.” His uncle bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. 

Laurent smiled right back. “Excuse us again, Uncle, but I promised Guion I would introduce Damianos to Loyse.” 

As soon as he could, Laurent extracted himself, leaving Damen in the benevolent, if over-perfumed, company of a handful of middle-aged wives, and cornered Nicaise. “What did you say to Torgeir?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Nicaise said, but it was only a reflex. “I told him that the escort story was a roleplay between the two of you.” Puffing up with his own satisfaction, he continued, “I opened all casual, like hey did you meet Mr. Akielos? Laurent’s new boyfriend? Because I heard what you told him earlier from Ancel. So when he was confused I said that you met at a costume party where Damen was dressed as a hooker, and you like to dress the story up and scandalize people at parties by turning it into  _ escort _ and making it just plausible enough. And  _ then _ ,” Nicaise’s smugness grew, “I said,  _ well look at him, does he look like he’d need to hire an escort? _ And I made him laugh.” 

Laurent breathed out slowly. “That was very helpful of you and very smart of you. Thank you.” 

“I only did it because Ancel likes you.” Nicaise said, tipping his chin up defiantly. “And because now you owe me a favor.”

“You can call me any time you need me,” Laurent said seriously. Too seriously, because Nicaise sniffed at him and flounced off. 

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of handshakes and cheerful interrogation. The Akielos family name made Damen instantly magnetic, and Laurent by association was swept up in the general sense of approval. “Having the Akielos name involved with the company could be a real benefit,” one of the board members rumbled approvingly, pumping Damen’s hand, and that seemed to be the general consensus. For once, no one was directing suspicious or judgemental looks at Laurent. Instead they were congratulating him and angling for an introduction. As the crowd continued to circulate cheerfully around them, glad-handing Damen, Laurent watched his uncle’s face grow more and more sour from across the room. 

When they finally extracted themselves, well after midnight, there was silence in the limousine. Laurent could feel how hard Damen had fucked him every time he shifted on the soft leather seats. Finally, as the city lights slid by outside the tinted window, he said, “I think I owe you an apology.” 

“Oh?” Damen sounded more curious than anything else. 

“Yes. I dragged you into a bunch of stuff this evening that you didn’t sign up for. Not in your contract.” He risked a glance at Damen, who was watching him with a small, wry smile. 

“Life happens,” Damen said, shrugging. “You couldn’t have known who I was or that Touars knew my father. And technically it’s within your rights as a customer to tell anyone you’d like that you hired an escort. It was bad luck.” 

“What are you going to do now?” 

“Nothing, probably. It seemed like everyone was convinced that you were telling a bold story to Torgeir.” 

“Thanks to Nicaise,” Laurent sighed, and explained what Nicaise had told him. 

“Is he going to be alright? The kid?” 

“Yes.” Laurent’s voice sounded fierce to his own ears. “I’ll make sure of that. When uncle throws him out, I’ll make sure he has a stipend, a place to go. A fucking therapist. I wasn’t old enough to help Corentin. But I can help Nicaise.” 

“Corentin?” Damen said faintly. 

“The last one.” Laurent shook his head jerkily, a dismissal rather than denial. “I will destroy my uncle.” Smoothing the lapel of his jacket, Laurent felt the folded note again. “With Patras favoring me, I can sway more of the shareholders to my side, and with their backing I can… there are other…” He swallowed, not wanting to talk about his other weapons against his uncle. Damen was kind and handsome and made Laurent feel startlingly safe, but they had still only met six hours ago. 

“They liked you as Damianos,” Laurent said instead changing the subject. “The shareholders. It’d be nice to have a name like that in your back pocket. I don’t suppose you’d like a permanent position as my boyfriend-for-hire?” He meant it to sound like a joke but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. 

Damen leaned back in the seat, long legs stretched out in front of him. His suit jacket was slightly rumpled, his eyes inscrutable in the dim light. “I graduate in four months. I may not be doing this much longer.” 

“Oh. That’s… congratulations.” There was a lump in Laurent’s throat.  _ You’re just tired _ , he told himself. “On graduating.” 

Damen caught his gaze, and grinned. “So if you wanted to drop the  _ for-hire _ part, we could talk more about the boyfriend part,” he said, and Laurent felt a swoop in his own belly that took him a long moment to identify - hope. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!   
> Follow me on tumblr at [ stillwaterseas](http://stillwaterseas.tumblr.com/) or at my fandom blog [seas-of-ios](https://seas-of-ios.tumblr.com/)


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